Cool, Calm, and Collected: A Home for Prompt and Other Short Fic
by starfish.dancer
Summary: AoS prompt fills, drabbles, and fics I feel are too short to be stand-alones live here. Biospecialist so far, but may grow to include other pairings, friendships, et cetera.
1. 100 Ways to Say I Love You

"Don't be angry," are the first words that come out Jemma's mouth the second he's through the door to their apartment.

"Okay, not really the words a guy wants to hear out of his girlfriend's mouth when he gets home from a two-week mission," Grant says slowly, dropping his go bag on the floor so he can shrug off his leather jacket and hang it on the coat rack by the door. "Or ever, for that matter."

"It's nothing bad," Jemma says quickly. "It's just…well…he looked so _sad_ and _lonely_ when I went to the shelter to help Daisy pick out a cat and - "

"Is that a pit bull?" Grant says, rounding the corner to see Jemma curled into her corner of the couch, her lap full of puppy.

"An American pit bull terrier, technically," Jemma says as she stands carefully, tucking the little ball of fur under her chin when it shivers. Two big sets of brown eyes turn on him, pleading. "I've already run it by the condo board and given the deposit, and researched a service to take him for walks when you're travelling and I need to work late and… please say you don't mind if we keep him. I didn't mean to get him without consulting you, truly, but he was the only one of the litter without a home."

His lips want to quirk into a smile – she can't help her big heart, he really should be surprised she didn't adopt the whole shelter - but he can't help his reservations. "Jem, sweetheart, I'm not opposed to us having a dog, but…isn't this breed dangerous? I'm not going to say yes to anything that might lead to your getting hurt."

"Oh, no," she shakes her head. "They just have a bad reputation, is all."

"Is all?" He quirks an eyebrow, and doesn't miss the way she blushes. Not from a lie, though; she remains a hilariously bad liar, not that she's in the habit of deceiving him. No, the colour that rises to her cheeks is followed by the subtle shift of her weight that signals he's done something to turn her on. He's not sure whether it's the stubble he hasn't had the chance to shave away or the protective mode, but once he figures it out, it's going to bear repeating.

"Yes, Grant," Jemma nods even as the little guy lifts his face to lick her chin. "I mean, they are very strong and can be good fighters, if they are brought up to be. But they are actually very loving and incredibly loyal dogs, even with young children. Not that that's a factor here," she adds hastily.

"No," he gives a small grin He leaves the "not yet" that's been cropping up in his head more and more lately unsaid. He's got a ring – the right one – to find first. Then, because he hasn't done it yet, he reaches to tug Jemma against him, dog and all, so he can kiss her.

"So not dangerous to you?" he says once he's kissed her breathless.

"Mmm?" she says, distracted and dreamy-eyed. "Oh! Pit bull terriers. No, not if properly trained and socialized. In fact, the research I've done into the breed says their their courage is unmatched and they will defend their family with their lives."

She gives him that soft smile of hers and cuddles into him as he reaches the hand that isn't around Jemma's waist to scratch behind the little guy's floppy ears. He leans into Grant's touch as well.

"It reminded me of you," she says, nuzzling closer.

"Yeah?" he says, his voice dropping to a husky pitch.

"Yeah," she says.

"Just tell me you didn't name him Grant," he teases.

"Of course not, darling." She stands on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw and another to the corner of his mouth. "His name is Baxter Fuzzington."

"What?! You're kidding, right? Jemma? Jemma!"


	2. I wanna lock in your love

**I think we're cIose enough (I wanna lock in your love)**

"You're all sweaty," Jemma wrinkles her nose even as she lets him pull her into a quick kiss as she passes off a fresh bottle of water and Baxter's leash so Grant can take him on the last mile of his run.

"Mmm," Grant hums and lets Bax tangle the leash around their legs just for the excuse to tug her in a little tighter. "I seem to recall different circumstances where you don't complain all that much."

She blushes, as he expected, even as she swats at him playfully. Baxter barks, wanting his own attention, and Grant reaches easily out of rote to find the sweet spot behind Bax's right ear even as he unwraps the leash from their legs with his other hand.

"I better get going, before he gets impatient for his R-U-N," Grant says.

"You have enough water? You won't overdo it?" Jemma frets. He smiles fondly at her.

"I have enough water," he confirms. "And you checked the research yourself, he's okay to do the mile now that he's six months old."

"I meant you, you silly git," Jemma says. "It's hot and you've already been out over an hour."

"Baby, I've literally run this distance in the desert. This is nothing."

"Well, still," she says, learning in for another quick peck. "I worry."

"You don't need to," Grant promises.

"I'll start dinner," Jemma says. "So it will be ready to eat shortly after you get home and shower."

"Or," Grant says, "we could order in and shower together."

"Grant, love," she laughs. "You know if we ordered take away every time you wanted to get into my knickers, we'd be broke."

"Fair," Grant says. "But I'm not talking about every time, I'm talking about this time."

"I've got all the ingredients for lasagne ready and I've done the sauce from scratch, but since it will take a while to cook once it's assembled, play your cards right…"

"You know I am an excellent card player, baby." Baxter barks impatiently and Grant just chuckles. "Alright, that's my cue, then. See you in twenty or so?"

She nods and waves as he and Baxter start their run, an easy pace for the happily loping dog.

In the promised time, he makes his way up the stairs to their home, since Baxter still has enough energy that he's up for the seven flights of stairs. Grant's greeted with the excellent view of Jemma's behind as he comes in the door and let's Bax of the lead, since he's apparently time his arrival perfectly to coincide with her bending to put the casserole dish in the oven. Bax lops to lap water from his dish and Grant makes his way over to give her ass a playful swat as she straightens, delighting in the surprised squeak she makes.

He lets his hand slide up across her back to loosely clasp her hand before he lets it go to grab a Gatorade out of the fridge, pops the cap and takes a swig before he sets it down and refills Bax's water dish while Jemma coos over their good boy.

"So," Grant grins, tilting his head at the oven as he takes another swig of his drink. "Dinner's in the oven for another…" he glances at the timer "forty-seven minutes before you need to check on it."

"Whatever shall we do with that time?" Jemma gives him that teasing tilt of her lips. "Scrabble, perhaps? A nice rousing game of – Grant!"

She doesn't get to finish what she was going to say, as he moves with the grace that has made him one of Shield's most in-demand specialists to catch her by the waist and throw her over his shoulder. Baxter hops around the two of them, wuffing happily as Jemma dissolves into helpless giggles as he makes his way down the hall.

"Sorry, Bax," Grant says as he closes the bathroom door behind him. "This game's just for two."

If there's a bit of whining outside the door before Baxter gives up to go lay down, Jemma's too distracted to fuss.

/

Later, Jemma hums as she putters around the kitchen, making herself a pot of tea. Dinner has been consumed and the leftovers stored in the fridge and, though he'd tried to insist that he could get the dishes since she made dinner, she'd bounced around drying and putting them away while he washed, and they've kicking back on the couch for the last hour or so, watching reruns of Battlestar Gallactica.

Baxter is curled against his side, his head in Grant's lap as he snoozes, waking up only to nudge Grant's hand if he pauses to long in petting the big suck. His other side is pleasantly warm from Jemma having been pressed against him, her small hand tucked into his free one when not playing idly with his fingers. There's something so perfect about the familiarity of it all, the ordinariness that feels anything but routine. This isn't how he'd thought he'd do it, wearing comfortable sweatpants in their living room with no flowers or big gestures, but maybe there's a reason he's scrapped every last idea he's come up with for proposing in the three months since the diamond solitaire in the tension setting has been burning hole in his proverbial pocket.

She's amazing and deserves the world, and he doesn't want to wait another minute before offering to spend his life trying to give it to her.

He uses the guise of using the washroom to sneak into the bedroom to grab the little velvet box from where he'd tucked it in a pair of socks at the back of his dresser drawer. Baxter has padded after him and stands wagging his tail, which gives Grant an idea.

He and Baxter are settled back on the couch within minutes, Jemma still humming dreamily as she waits for the kettle to boil. He settles back on the couch with Baxter, and, as impatient as he feels, waits until he knows she has started the tea steeping in the pot before he calls out to her.

"Hey, baby? Looks like something got caught in the ring for Bax's tags and I can't get at it. I think it needs a little more nail than I'm sporting at the moment."

"Oh, love," she teases in that fondly exasperated way as she makes her way over to the couch and leans down to snag the keyring that attaches the tags to the pit bull terrier's collar. "What would do without me?"

He knows the moment she sees the white gold jewelry he's affixed onto the split ring, because she freezes and her beautiful mouth drops into an "oh" of surprise. He feels, suddenly, uncommonly nervous.

"I was hoping," he swallows, his voice unintentionally husky, "that I won't have to."

"I didn't expect you to… You don't believe in ..." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to clear the fluster. "Grant, I know how you feel about marriage, after your parents and your brother, and I promise, you don't have to propose to keep me."

"That's the thing, though," he says, taking her hands in his, bringing them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "I don't have to, but with you, I want to. That is, if you want to. So, will you, Jemma? Will you marry me?"

Her lower lip trembles and she covers her face, and there's a brief second of panic that she doesn't want this, after all, but then her hands are dropping and she's in his arms, laughing and crying while peppering his face with kisses in between breathlessly giving her assent. Then he's kissing her properly, deeply.

She's going to be his wife.

When they are forced to pull apart by the biological imperative to breathe, cursed need for oxygen, he presses his forehead to hers, his mouth a whisper away from hers.

"I think," she says, her own voice turned husky as well with happy tears, "that my fingernails are going to do no good here. I can't stop trembling."

"Well, good thing that was a bit of a ruse and I can manage, after all," Grant smiles, reaching over to the bemused pup to twist the ring back off. She _is_ quivering as he slides the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. It fits just right and gleams in the waning light of the evening, but he's pretty sure he could have proposed with a rubber band with equal success by the way she doesn't even pause to admire it before she's cupping his face in her hands and kissing him again.

Poor Baxter ends ups up unceremoniously if accidentally pushed off the couch when she moves to straddle Grant's lap in her enthusiasm, but he's a good sport and a good dog, and rather used to the amorous antics of his owners by now.


	3. The Violence and the Lamb (Movie AU)

**The Violence and the Lamb**

"Good evening, Jemma."

Ward doesn't turn around, but somehow Jemma feels like like he can see her swallow, voice caught a moment in her throat, even though his eyes are fixed on the solid wall of Vault D.

"I thought you might like pictures, Ward." Jemma's training for infiltrating Hydra helps to keep her voice even, though she is trembling inside. She lifts the photographs of the team members he'd been pushing for, her eyes on them so she doesn't have to meet Ward's when he turns around and steps just shy of the barrier. "Just until Skye sets up your view," she finishes lamely.

"How very thoughtful," Ward murmurs like a caress, before his voice hardens slightly, a warning. "Or did Skye send you here for one last wheedle - before you're both reassigned?"

"No, I came on my own."

"People will say we're in love." There's a wistful tone to his voice, but he's too practiced a liar for her to put any stock in his words. He claims to love her. She's not sure he's even capable. "There's one of you, I trust?"

"Yes." Skye had taken it, against her better judgment, a declaration she'd repeated even as she put the photo paper in the printer.

"Good, that's good," Ward smiles, and all Jemma can think of is a wolf's sharp teeth. "Pity for poor Bobbi. Tick-tock..."

"Are you going to help me?" It hurts to come here, to play a little deeper into his game every time she comes here, but she can't leave Bobbi to Hydra's torture, not when they have her only because she put herself in danger to get Jemma and her hard drive out. Whatever this costs her, Jemma will pay it.

"Your problem is you need to have more fun in life."

"I think you were telling me the truth the last time - or starting to. Tell me the rest now." Jemma wets her lips. "Please."

"I've studied the case file. Have you? Everything you need to find Bobbi is right in these pages."

"Then tell me how," she begs.

"First principles, sweetheart."

Jemma flinches at the endearment, at the reminder that once she used to long for that from him, for him to look at her like he looked at Skye. The way he looks at her now is different, more than the awkward longing he'd done as his cover, but it's tainted by the monster she knows lurks underneath. The monster she hates herself a little more each day for still being drawn to, despite all she knows.

"Simplicity" Ward continues. "Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing, ask: What is it, in itself, what is its nature...? What does he do, this man that has your friend?

"He brainwashes-"

"No," Grant cuts her off sharply and she takes a step back, even though he is still behind the force field that will keep him from harming her, though he's repeatedly said that isn't what he wants. His tone softens. "That's incidental. What is the first and principal thing he does, what need does he serve by erasing people and putting them back together new, the way he wants?"

"I don't know. Servitude. Total devotion."

"No, he covets immortality. That's his nature. And what are the other ways he might go about looking to achieve that? Make an effort to answer."

"Looking for the miracle experiment to lengthen life. Make your ideas immortal, so your name is written on the pages of history." His eyes on her are fond. That isn't the answer he's looking for, as he tilts his head slightly for her to continue, but it is close. She searches her mind for other ways to write your name on the scrolls of time. "Children! Does he have children?"

"Very good, sweetheart."

"All right yes, then, tell me how to find-"

"No. It's your turn to tell me, Jemma. You don't have any more views to sell. How did it feel, in that pod?"

"Ward, we don't have any time for this-"

"But we don't keep time the same way, Jemma. This is all the time you'll ever have."

"Later, now please, listen to me, we've only got-"

"No. I will listen now. When the pod didn't float, when you were there on the bottom of the ocean with Fitz, what did you feel?"

"I was afraid. I thought I was going to die."

"Not just afraid, sweetheart. You were afraid when the Chitauri virus coursed through your system, but you held onto hope too, as you rushed toward a cure. I want you to tell me. What was it like?"

"It was cold. Dark."

"And Fitz?"

"He was… he was afraid."

"But just like with the virus, you worked together for a solution, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you found one, didn't you? Like you did with the virus."

"Yes."

"I knew you would, sweetheart. You know I didn't mean to hurt you, don't you, my brilliant Jemma? You found a way to survive. I gave you the best opportunity to be safe."

"No," she closes her eyes, gasps it out because she can't absolve him. "No, Fitz found a way to make me safe. He told me he loved me, told me to leave him, but I couldn't. I couldn't. And it was very cold. And he got so heavy. So heavy... I didn't give up."

"But it didn't make you love him, did it, Jemma? Didn't change the feelings he wanted so badly to be there, for him?"

Jemma swallows hard, wraps her arms around herself. She wants desperately to be able to feel for Fitz the way he wants her to feel, but she doesn't. She can't. Whatever spark is there for him has never been lit inside her for him in return. She can't set it ablaze any more than she can douse the other ember inside her, the one she's tried to bury and snuff to no avail.

"Do you think if you save poor Bobbi, you could stop feeling the weight of it all? If Bobbi lives, you won't wake up in the dark, ever again, from the dreams of tumbling through the sky, relief to feel your heart pounding in your chest, because it means you are still alive and knowing to whom it bound you to first?"

"I don't know...! I don't know."

Her lips are pressed together and she can't stop the tears from leaking out of her closed eyes. She lets them fall because she can't bring herself to stop holding herself long enough to wipe them. It's different from the way her arms wrapped around him, in the air as she plummeted to what she thought would be her death, the way he held her against him in the ocean when she came awake, hand soothing through her hair on the raft as they awaited rescue. She can't look at him, can't let him know how much of her heart he still owns.

"Thank you, Jemma."

He knows anyway.

"Give me their names, Grant." Her voice is shaky and rough, but it comes out strong, and for that she's proud.

"Ah, Director Coulson."

Jemma's eyes fly open in dismay.

"Okay, Simmons. Let's go." She can hear the frown in Coulson's voice, coming from the top of the stairs.

"It's your turn, Grant," she steps close the the barrier, so desperate to get what she needs before her unhappy boss makes it down the stairs that she barely notices her own slip at his name. He smiles, pleased by the implied intimacy. "Tell me a name."

"Simmons. Out." Coulson's voice is sharp.

"Sorry, Simmons," May says softly but firmly. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

"My brave Jemma. Will you let me know if the dream ever changes?"

"Yes. I'll tell you," she says as May and Coulson begin to pull her away, toward the stairs. She can see Skye hovering at the top, shifting her weight nervously, a stricken-looking Hunter pacing just behind.

"Jemma, sweetheart," Grant calls. "Your case file?"

It's surprise only, she knows, that keeps Coulson and May from snagging her before she can run to the cell's barrier, snatching up the tablet on the way.

She types a quick command and a small panel opens, large enough for him to hold out the file. She slips him the promised pictures as she takes it, then for a moment, he curls his hand around her wrist, fingers tracing lightly over her stuttering pulse. He lets go before May and Coulson wrap their hands around her arms to pull her back, hands raised mockingly as he steps back. Coulson gently takes the tablet from her fingers as May's grip loosens even as she guides Jemma back to the stairs. Jemma grips the file tightly to her chest, knowing she's only scratched the surface of the price she'll end up paying for it.

"Say hello to Bobbi for me, Jemma," Ward calls out. "I'll be seeing you soon, sweetheart."


End file.
